


Open Mind

by Liaegypt



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:33:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25557400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liaegypt/pseuds/Liaegypt
Summary: Harry heads out west to help Warden Ramirez with a warlock who’s been forcing couples into a sex-crazed frenzy and gaining power from the resulting energy. What could possibly go wrong? Set between White Night and Small Favor. Minor spoilers up through Turn Coat. M/M, definitely mature and definitely gratuitous, though not as explicit as it could be.
Relationships: Harry Dresden/Carlos Ramirez
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Open Mind

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm not really sure how this happened—Much as I love M/M fics, in my head Harry has always been irreversibly straight, and anything else always seemed extremely out of character. But on a reread of White Night, Harry and Carlos' banter struck me as kinda flirty, and I went with it. Hopefully, I got around the OOC problem, but let me know what you think! Thanks for reading :)

The sounds of chanting in an unfamiliar language, harsh and atonal, floated on the dry desert air. I stifled a cough. The Nevada desert wasn't terribly hot this time of year—actually comfortable in late afternoon, a nice change from winter in Chicago—but it was still dusty as hell. It didn't help that I was lying face-down in the dirt, either.

Propped up on his elbows next to me, Carlos Ramirez passed me a pair of military-grade binoculars. "What's he saying?"

"Beats me," I replied, peering through the binoculars. Our target, one Gareth Newlon, was just visible inside the cave that lay at the base of the ridge opposite our position. He was a thin, spare man with leathery skin and long gray hair; he looked like an old hippie, the kind who did a lot of camping in the desert and a lot of drugs. He knelt half-turned away from us, chanting away inside a ritual circle.

"Really?" Ramirez asked. "Ancient Etruscan isn't a problem, but this joker has you stumped?"

"Sorry, man. I'm fresh out of intracranial demonic translators," I said absently, scanning the rest of the cave. Newlon's pack leaned against one side, near a couple large boxes and a case of bottled water. I couldn't see much else; it seemed like he traveled light.

"Ooooooh-kay…" Ramirez drawled skeptically. "Sure, Harry. Since we don't know what that spell is, we should probably get down there before he finishes it, huh?"

"Yeah. You didn't See any wards?"

"Nah, it's clear. For such a sophisticated M.O., this guy seems surprisingly incompetent."

I snorted. "He's been getting away with this for years. Why start warding now?" I handed back the binoculars. "How do you wanna do this?"

"If we hurry and show up before he finishes his little ritual, we'll catch him off guard," Ramirez said. "Hopefully we can convince him to talk to us. I don't want to kill him; we need to learn more about what he's done to those people. Hell, maybe we're wrong about him."

I hoped that was the case. I began an awkward, reverse-Army crawl, inching back from the ledge we'd been peeking over, and Ramirez followed me.

I owed him a favor—a big one—after his help with the White Court at the Raiths' manor. At his request, I had come out to Las Vegas to help him handle a warlock who had flown under the radar for a while. "Father" Newlon, proprietor and officiant of the Passionate Paradise Wedding Chapel, had been a fixture of the Vegas quickie-wedding scene for over two decades. In recent years, though, he'd been the subject of scandals: every few months, a couple would claim that he drugged them with Ecstasy, forcing them to spend their wedding night under the influence of an insatiable, unnatural lust. Toxicology reports always came back inconclusive, and the scandal always faded away without resolution. But Newlon's two most recent accusers claimed they were complete strangers before he dragged them off the street and forced them through a ceremony despite the lack of a legitimate marriage license. They, too, had consummated their "marriage" under…let's say _extreme_ circumstances… and assumed they'd been drugged. That was when Ramirez called me; he'd heard reports through the fledgling Paranet, and found lingering evidence of advanced black magic when he met with the couple to investigate.

On our phone call last week, Ramirez theorized that Newlon had learned how to gain magical energy from the sexual activity of his clients, and had started augmenting his wedding ceremonies with black magic so that he could gather more. Enhancement of natural emotions is considered kind of a gray area, but interference with free will and the ability to consent is firmly in black magic territory, and Newlon's activities warranted some attention from the White Council.

But Carlos' theory could still be wrong, and he wasn't the sort of Warden to take a suspected warlock's life without proof. We wouldn't know for sure until we talked to Newlon, which is why we'd tracked him all the way out into the desert.

Of course, the best-laid plans of mice and wizards often go awry. When Newlon caught sight of us casually strolling up to his secret hideout, he panicked and immediately lost control of his ritual spell, whatever it was. I could sense the magical energies he'd gathered, thrashing about wildly as he stopped his chanting and left the spell unfinished. He dove toward his circle, breaking it with a sweep of his hand, and that energy lashed out in a small explosion, thunderously loud in the little cavern. Ramirez and I both flung up our shields, catching some flying debris with flashes of green light and blue-white sparks. The blast sent Newlon tumbling across the floor of the cave, and he slammed into the far wall, hard enough that I winced just watching him.

Ramirez coughed and lowered his shield, waving away the dust in the air. Then he shouted, "Father Newlon! We just want to talk to you!"

From the back of the cave, Newlon let out a little shriek, unintelligible and terrified. He came charging out of the shadows, and his eyes were wide and crazed, pupils dilated like saucers. Whatever he was high on, it would seem to preclude a civilized discussion.

I swept my staff in the direction of his ankles. " _Ventas servitas,_ " I snapped. A gust of air pushed his feet out from under him, turning his forward rush into a painful-looking faceplant. I heard the breath leave his lungs in a _whoosh_ , and he rolled onto his side, gasping for air.

"Gareth," Ramirez said, striding forward. "Relax, man, we're just here to—"

I have no idea where this drugged-up old warlock found the wherewithal to prepare his death curse, but in the overreaction of the century, that's what he began to do. I sensed it building for an instant, glimpsed the impending death in his wild-eyed, panicked stare as he drew on every bit of his magic, every bit of life in every cell of his body.

"Carlos—!" I tried to choke out a warning, began to bring up my shield between us and Newlon, just a little too late. The warlock shrieked a single ugly word and unleashed his curse. A wave of purplish-blue light burst out, expanding in a sphere from his body. It knocked me off my feet, and I hit the ground hard. There was a weird ringing in my ears as the wave of light swept over me and then disappeared.

I lay there panting for a second. I'd have a few bruises after that rough landing, but otherwise, I felt fine. "You call that a death curse?" I said to myself, probably too loudly over the ringing in my ears. I clambered back upright and found Ramirez a few feet away, slowly sitting up and shaking his head dazedly. I held out a hand and hauled him up. "You alright, 'Los?"

He nodded and clapped me on the shoulder in thanks before moving away. My hand and arm tingled, almost as if they were asleep, and I wondered if I'd pinched a nerve or something when I fell.

"Dammit _,_ " Ramirez said tiredly to what remained of Newlon. "You didn't have to do that, you idiot."

I grimaced. The death curse, ineffective as it had been, had still drained the life force from the warlock's body, leaving him as nothing but a desiccated shell. I had to admire his determination, at least. He'd gone out on his own terms, rather than subject himself to the White Council's justice.

I could empathize with that.

Of course, his choice might have been more impressive if he'd been sober. God only knows what had actually been going through his drug-addled head at the end.

Ramirez and I buried Newlon where he lay, then stocked up on water and headed back outside to retrieve our gear. By that time, it was early evening; I squinted suspiciously towards our route back. Newlon's hideout was tucked in the foothills about twelve miles or so north of Las Vegas city limits. A Way through the Nevernever had gotten us fairly close, but we'd still had to hike through the desert for nearly half a day to get here. "We're not going to make it back tonight, are we?"

Ramirez hoisted his pack onto his shoulders. "Remember that little cabin about two miles back? I figure we can camp there for the night. Unless you're really in a hurry to get home."

I hadn't planned on an overnight trip, but it still sounded better than dragging my tired ass through the desert in the dark. "That's the best idea you've had all day," I told him, and we headed back out of the little ravine.

We reached the cabin not long before sunset. It was a ramshackle old structure a few hundred feet from the trail; there was no door in the frame, and only a few shards of glass remained in the windows. Half of the roof had caved in, leaving a pile of debris on one side of the single room. It wasn't the greatest shelter, but it wasn't like we had to worry about a rainstorm, either. It would do for a few hours' sleep.

"Hang on," Ramirez said, when I prepared to set up a few wards around the cabin for security. He unslung his pack, fished around in a pocket and drew out a small quartz crystal, about the size of his palm. He tossed it to me.

"What's this?" I asked. I could feel the faint thrum of enchantments running through the crystal.

"A timesaver," he grinned. "Been working on it for a while. Go stand in the center of the cabin and try it out."

Raising an eyebrow, I did. Sending a cautious thread of my will into the crystal, I could sense the spells he'd laid on it, though their function wasn't obvious. I found what felt like a metaphysical trigger, and nudged it.

A dome of shimmering energy snapped up around us, enclosing more or less the same footprint as the cabin, though the dome disappeared through the walls at the corners. A corresponding subsonic hum of energy flared, then faded, leaving the dome intact. It was barely visible except for faint glimmers where it caught the red-gold light of sunset.

"Nice," I said, examining the shield. "No need for wards, huh?"

Ramirez nodded, and began gathering up some of the fallen roof debris to build a fire in the center of the cabin. "I've been running around a lot, spending a lot of nights on the road, and it's exhausting. I needed something quick and easy. It's still got a few bugs to be fixed, but it'll keep almost everything out until it dissipates in about eight hours or so." Ramirez murmured a soft word, and his campfire sprang to life. He started pulling items out of his pack: a small camping cookpot, a skillet, some mugs, a spoon, and some MREs—and not the gross military ones, but the expensive kind that eccentric millionaires buy when they want to climb Mount Everest.

I eyed him. "What else you got in that bag, Samwise?" I asked. "Some _poh-tay-toes_?"

He gave me a blank look. Carlos has no appreciation for the classics. Then he reached into the bag and pulled out a flask, holding it out toward me with a mischievous grin. "Jack?"

I shook my head ruefully. He could drink me under the table, as I'd learned the last time we hung out in the desert, and I wasn't eager to repeat those hangovers. "It's all yours," I said. I hefted the crystal in my hand. "Mind if I examine this? I might want to steal your idea."

"Be my guest," he said, and took a long pull from the flask.

I dropped my pack and settled cross-legged on the floor, eyeing the crystal thoughtfully. Carlos had put a lot of thought into it, and I could see how his spells were constructed, layered into the quartz to take advantage of its natural protective qualities. I realized that this might be really useful for my apprentice. Molly was exposed to a lot of danger just through her association with me. Her talents did not run toward strong combative magic, and I wouldn't always be able to protect her. An item like this could mean the difference between life and death for her, could buy her some time in a dangerous situation when veiling wasn't enough.

I set the crystal aside, intending to start mentally drafting my own version of the enchantment. Instead, I promptly fell asleep.

"Soup's on!" Ramirez called cheerfully, maybe a half hour later. I twitched, startled out of my doze, and looked up to see him crouching beside me, holding out a camping mug full of stew.

"Thanks," I mumbled groggily, pushing myself up from where I'd slumped against my pack. I reached for the mug.

Our fingertips brushed against each other, and _something—_ like an electric shock, and the mindless reflex that makes you jerk your hand away from a burning hot pan—shot up my arm and straight through me. I hissed, dropping the mug, and Ramirez yelped in surprise, lost his balance and fell back, nearly tipping into the fire. The mug hit the floor, splattering stew between the two of us.

"What the hell was _that_?" Ramirez demanded, staring at his hand. I stared at _him_ , oddly noticing the play of shadows and firelight across his sharp features, of all things.

"Harry," he said, a few seconds later, sounding strangled. "Are you… feeling a little…. weird?"

Come to think of it, I was. Through a confusing haze of drowsiness and… weirdness…. I finally started piecing things together. And then the drowsiness fled, and my heart dropped into my feet, as I realized what was going on.

I jerked upright and stabbed a finger towards Ramirez. "Don't move," I told him. I closed my eyes, then opened my Sight.

I hadn't meant to look into his _eyes_ with the Sight; both of us should have known better. But that's what happened, and the soulgaze slammed into my perception like the metaphysical equivalent of a freight train. I could See into him, his true appearance, and it put me in mind of a shapeshifter. Ghostly apparitions of wild animals flickered over him, like 3D holograms projected on his surface: a jaguar, a massive eagle, a coyote, and a few other, more exotic animals that I couldn't name. I knew, somehow, that the flickering did not represent a shifty or inconstant nature. Instead, it showcased the many animals that embodied different aspects of Carlos' nature: ferocity, loyalty, mischief, and more.

As fascinating as Carlos' soul was, I needed to see something else. With some effort, I tore myself away from the soulgaze, and used my Sight to look elsewhere. _Inside_ him, I could see his magic, his life force, a core of glowing green vitality running through his center. And coiled around that aura was a spell: a purplish-blue helix that sent out grasping, claw-like protrusions. These claws sank into Ramirez' magic at his head and his heart—and lower—subtly twisting the core of his being into what I instinctively knew was the wrong shape. It was a small change, nothing ruinous like what the Nightmare had done to people a few years back… but it was not insignificant.

Oh.

Fuck.

That was how Newlon had been gaining power: Not by simply feeding off the natural love and lust of his clients, but by driving it to exaggerated heights through this psychic alteration. The more lust he could induce in the couples at his altar, the more energy they could provide for him. Already an addict, he'd grown dependent on that power, and it drove him to extremes. At some point, rather than waiting for clients to come to him, he'd started going out and finding them himself. His lust spell was probably the only one he knew very well, but he'd gotten really good at it—good enough to entangle any two people, even strangers, into that artificial desire.

And for his death curse, he'd unleashed it on Ramirez and me.

"Oh, _fuck,_ " I said aloud.

I blinked away my Sight and saw Ramirez staring back at me with a look of horror that probably mirrored my own.

"That son of a bitch," he muttered, and his face turned dark, a fierce blush underneath his tanned skin. I hadn't seen him look that uncomfortable since back at the Deeps, when Lara Raith revealed he was a virgin. Without getting up, he scooched backward until he reached the opposite wall, as far away from me as he could get.

I drew a deep breath and pinched the bridge of my nose, where I could almost sense a new headache coming on. "Well… this is awkward."

He snorted. "You're a master of understatement, Harry." He picked up his flask, then thought better of it and tossed it away with a grimace.

"The good news is, it should dissipate with the sunrise," I pointed out. That fit with Newlon's other victims, and I'd gotten a sense of that from my Sight, too.

"Right around the time the shield crystal gives out," Ramirez agreed, tipping his head back against the wall and squeezing his eyes shut.

I realized I was staring at the slender, exposed lines of his throat, and I tore my gaze away. Then his words hit me: We were trapped together for the rest of the night, while Newlon's spell tightened its coils around us.

"Hell's bells," I muttered. I couldn't even go for a walk to put some distance between us. In the few hours since Newlon's death, the curse's effects had already progressed until I could barely keep my eyes off Ramirez. Even that accidental soulgaze had probably been driven by the curse. How much stronger was it going to get before sunrise washed it away?

"Hey," Ramirez said. "We can handle this, right? We're wizards. Strength of will and mental fortitude, and whatever. This should be a piece of cake to control."

"Absolutely," I said, more confidently than I felt. An uncomfortable silence settled around us as we both turned our focus inward. A quarter hour or so went by as I built up my mental defenses, trying to find those parts of my psyche that were suddenly, dangerously fascinated by Ramirez, and wall them off. Eventually, I looked up and found him watching me, a striking intensity in his dark eyes. It took him a heartbeat or two longer than normal to realize I was looking at him.

"You good, man?"

"Yep," I replied, distantly. My mental blocks were going to take a lot of focus to maintain, but they should hold, if I was careful. More silence filled the room, as darkness finished arriving outside, blanketing the desert in the cool hush of night. Stars appeared in the clear dark sky overhead. In our little cabin, the fire crackled merrily on, reflected here and there in golden glimmers on the dome of the shield around us.

"Hey," Ramirez said into the silence, maybe an hour later. "…what if….?"

I raised one eyebrow, though I kept my eyes closed. "What?"

"You know what," he murmured.

I did open my eyes then, giving him a flat, skeptical look. "How the hell did you get this drunk off a few sips of Jack Daniels?"

He grinned, a flash of bright white teeth, and shook his head. "Just thinking. If worst comes to worst… would it really be that bad? I mean, come on…" He looked himself up and down, emphasized by an eloquent wave of his hand. "No one's _that_ straight, right?"

That drew a snort of laughter, making my focus waver a little. "I prefer someone with a little more experience. And by 'a little more experience', I mean _any."_

"Oh-h! The old man's got jokes," he exclaimed. "Big words from someone whose last _experience_ was—when, again? During the Reagan administration?"

I rolled my eyes. "Don't worry, kid. Your virtue is safe with me," I told him, holding up my fingers in the scout's salute.

"Obviously. You wouldn't even remember what to do with it," he snickered.

I retorted without thinking, giving the exact response guaranteed to make things worse. Good to know that the curse hadn't fundamentally altered my personality, I guess.

"That sounds like a challenge," I said.

I'd meant it as a joke, but given the tension in the room, I knew as soon as the words left my mouth that they were a mistake. Ramirez stared back at me, as if unsure how to respond. His eyes were wide and dark, and the electric heat in that gaze made my heart skip a beat. After a second, he looked away with a small, rueful smile. "All I'm saying," he murmured, settling back and closing his eyes again, "is that it's the twenty-first century, man. We should both keep an open mind, just in case. And hey, what happens in Vegas…"

I shook my head a little, trying to clear my thoughts. I say a lot of dumb things, but that had been one whopper of a mistake. Hell's bells, this was already harder than I'd expected. It took me another few long seconds to shore up my mental blocks

"Modernity, shmodernity," I mumbled, concentrating. "I'm old-fashioned. Gotta at least buy me dinner first."

"Tried that," Ramirez replied. "You spilled it all over the floor."

I smiled, but didn't answer, sinking deeper into my meditative focus.

Another hour crept by, punctuated by nocturnal crickets and a distant coyote's howl. The fire began to die down, its golden light fading away behind my eyelids. Eventually, I heard Carlos get up and move around the room. He stoked the fire, restoring some light to the cabin, clattering a few things around. I heard the soft chime of steel as he drew his Warden's blade from its sheath, then his deliberate, measured breaths as he began moving through some exercises.

I cracked open one eye. In the open space to my left, Ramirez flowed through a sword drill, reminiscent of formal _katas._ He followed the pattern of movements with confident familiarity, boots sliding across the dusty floor as his sword glinted in the light.

I _meant_ to close my eyes again, but I found myself watching him instead. My hand-to-hand training with Murphy and the others from SI had given me an appreciation for the athleticism involved in combat, but this was… different. I watched Ramirez, and noticed things I never would have picked up on, like the way his T-shirt stretched across the back of his shoulders. Or the way his strength and control lent a fluid grace to his movements. The way a single bead of sweat trickled down the side of his neck, disappearing below the collar of his shirt. The way the firelight highlighted the lines of lean muscle on his forearms. I'd never paid attention to that sort of thing before—and certainly not with a deep desire that kept smoldering, slowly, despite my best efforts to extinguish it.

It was damn confusing.

And… intriguing.

I don't know if he noticed me watching. But at one point, without stopping his movements, he said, "Hey, how come you don't have a sword, Dresden? I mean, I know Captain Luccio can't custom-make them anymore, but the Council could probably scrounge up something if you asked for it."

I blinked a few times, only then realizing that I'd been staring and my mental blocks were slipping. "Uh," I said, shrugging. "I've never been one for swords. My staff is plenty good enough."

"Yeah?" He paused for a second in a stance that looked like a cross between a fencer's lunge and a yoga pose, the slender sword held out level and unwavering before him. Then he relaxed, sheathed the blade and set it aside. He picked up his own staff. With a grin, he beckoned toward me. "Let's go."

I considered. "That seems…. distracting."

"That's the point," he agreed, smoothly flowing into a new set of movements that ended with him facing directly at me, balanced on his toes, staff held across his body. He _did_ seem calmer than before, more centered, as if the exercise had indeed distracted him from Newlon's curse.

But still…. sparring just seemed like a really effective way to remove the distance we'd been careful to keep between us. And if that distraction proved _too_ effective, interfering with my mental focus, the Awkward Dial would get turned up to eleven.

"I don't think that's a great idea."

"I get it," Ramirez said, with exaggerated empathy in his voice. He moved again, staff whirling as he spoke over his shoulder. "Don't want to get shown up by the younger, more handsome, and infinitely more skilled Regional Commander of the Wardens, eh? Totally understandable. No worries, Harry."

I grumbled darkly under my breath and stood up. There's no respect from this younger generation of Wardens, I swear. Carlos grinned, and kept flowing through his forms, while I rolled my neck and shoulders, trying to loosen up a little.

When I stepped towards him, staff in hand, he paused and turned to face me. We nodded to each other, and I went on the offense immediately, feinting a strike at his knee, then aiming for his head. He avoided the first, blocked the second, and his staff snapped toward my chin in an upward swing that probably would have broken my jaw if it connected. I dodged it, barely, and felt a fierce smile spreading across my face. It had been a while since I'd done this, and I'd missed it.

We were pretty evenly matched in terms of skill, and while I had the advantage of reach, Ramirez was stronger than me. He wasn't pulling his punches, either. My hands started to sting with the force of each impact on the wood, and I ended up trying to avoid rather than block his attacks. In the small cabin, with a burning campfire in the center, that meant a lot of circling around the room. We sparred for a good ten minutes or so, filling the cabin with the sound of clattering weapons, and it _was_ a good distraction. I focused on not getting my head bashed in, and I forgot all about the curse.

At least, until I tripped over a bottle of water. My momentary stumble gave Ramirez an advantage, and he pressed it, forcing me back with a flurry of strikes that brought him inside my guard, too close for my long reach to do any good. Suddenly I was against the wall, Ramirez' staff caught on my own between us. (I'm being literal here, not metaphorical, thank you very much.) We stood like that for a long minute, staves braced against each other, and Ramirez' dark gaze flickered toward my mouth. I suddenly remembered what we were doing here, and what we'd been trying _not_ to do. Awareness of the curse's desire, stronger now, came flooding back in a rush that made the room spin a little.

"Well… shit," Carlos breathed. "This _was_ a mistake."

"Told you," I murmured. My heart was pounding, harder than it had been during the actual fight.

The corner of his mouth quirked, and he glanced up to meet my eyes, then leaned back a little and lowered his weapon. He set the staff against the wall next to me, then gripped mine with both hands. His fingers brushed mine, and just like with that damned soup mug, a jolt of power accompanied the contact.

I knew what was coming, and a little frisson of fear for Ramirez shot through me. Years ago, I'd Seen the psychic trauma caused when black magic forced someone to act against their will, against their nature. If we acted on Newlon's curse, it could damage Ramirez, maybe irreparably. And me too, I guessed, though I was more concerned about him.

"'Los," I said softly. "You don't need to do this. It's just the curse. You don't really want it."

He took a steady breath, licked his lips once. That close to me, the motion was captivating, and I had to struggle to pay attention to his next words. "So, stop me," he said, barely audibly. "If that's what _you_ want."

He was right, I realized. He stood so close to me, vulnerable, it should be easy to shove him away. Or call up a wind to push him across the room. Or manifest a shield to separate us. Anything to give myself some space, an opening to strengthen my mental defenses, to again block out the rising need of the curse. Objectively, I knew I should do one of those things. But… I didn't _want_ to do any of those things. Like an excited teenager on his first date, I just wanted to see what would happen next.

It was too late to go back, and too late for me to care.

With gentle strength, Ramirez pushed at my staff, lowering it to a horizontal between us. He was nearly a head shorter than me, but that didn't stop him. Using the staff for leverage, he leaned up to press his mouth to mine.

That was…. new.

It was a fairly chaste kiss, as they go. Ramirez' lips were soft, but there was an unmistakably masculine energy behind them that I recognized immediately. On some unseen level, we were on the same wavelength, and it lent the kiss a layer of mutual understanding that was unexpectedly intimate.

There was also the sheer, dangerous excitement of doing something so taboo. Now don't get me wrong: I couldn't care less who gets with who. Men, women, vampires, Sidhe, genderless insectoid beings from the far reaches of the Nevernever…whatever floats your boat. As long as no one's getting hurt, you should love whoever you want, you know? But for an ostensibly straight, white man raised in the United States, any sort of male physical contact beyond a handshake has a massive stigma attached. I hadn't ever thought about how much I had internalized that attitude, until now. It made this brief, nearly-innocent kiss feel forbidden, daring….

Thrilling.

All of that shot through my head almost at once, all wrapped up in the knowledge of who Carlos was, and what I'd seen in his soul, and how much I trusted him. And that was followed immediately by a wave of the curse-driven lust, a mental and physical shift that made me feel a little lightheaded. By then, Ramirez had already pulled back a little.

" _Dios_ ," he breathed softly.

"…Um," I agreed. Yep, that's me: Mr. Smooth.

Ramirez flashed me a brilliant grin. "That wasn't so bad."

"No, it wasn't," I admitted. We both still grasped the staff between us; the wood creaked under my hands. I glanced down at my white-knuckled grip, and didn't know what I was trying to do with it.

"I, uh…" Ramirez let his eyes drift closed, and didn't release the staff. "Not thinking too clearly. I don't know if…if I can get my focus back enough to… help."

"Yeah, I think that ship might have sailed," I agreed. I felt almost drunk; not exactly fuzzy-headed, but certainly unable to focus on blocking out an unwelcome psychic pressure. And, like being drunk, my inhibitions were gradually slipping away. Part of me noted that this was _not_ how I'd expected to feel as the enchantment ran its course; I had expected to be angry, to fight it every step of the way. Instead….

I knew that this was only happening because of the curse, and I knew that going any further could endanger my own psyche as well as Carlos'. But those intellectual concerns seemed unimportant. More immediately, I had enjoyed that kiss far more than I would have thought possible, and part of me figured I should just keep enjoying it while I could. That was probably the sign of a damned sophisticated spell, if I couldn't even muster up any anger to fight it. Something about that triggered a new thought, deep in my brain, but it didn't seem to matter anymore, and it was gone again before I could examine it.

Ramirez opened his eyes, drew a deep breath. When he moved, tugging gently on the weapon, I let it go. Moving deliberately, he leaned my staff against the wall next to his own and then took a half step closer. After another long, hesitant moment, he kissed me again.

This time, I kissed back. I tasted him, a burst of heat and bourbon and salty skin on my tongue, the scent of his cologne burning its way into my senses. Ramirez made a soft sound against my mouth, tongue twisting with mine. Then he laid one hand, calloused and strong, along my jaw, pulling me deeper into the kiss. We'd both been half-dreading this, but as he'd said, it wasn't that bad. In fact, it was….

Kind of amazing. And very intense. We kissed like that for a long time, slow, exploratory. I didn't really know what to do with my hands; I settled for mirroring him, one hand framing his face, the other gripping the muscles of his shoulder. It wasn't until he pressed forward, pushing his hips against mine, that I realized how insanely hard I was. Actually, we both were. I broke away from the kiss with a gasp, and we froze like that, our unsteady breathing the only sound in the room.

Ramirez glanced down between us and licked his lips. "Things are about to get out of hand real fast, aren't they?" He asked in a low voice.

I almost made a smart-ass remark about preferring to be _in_ his hand, but I managed to keep it to myself for once. See, I do learn from my mistakes sometimes.

"'About to?' You don't think this is out of hand already?"

He shrugged. Then he waggled his eyebrows at me and said, "I think I'd rather be in your hand."

"Goddammit," I muttered.

He laughed softly, a low, rich sound that sent a stab of pure desire straight through my core. All I wanted to do was keep going, to find out how every inch of him tasted. I wanted to feel his pulse under my lips, his skin under my hands... I felt a little unsteady, all but trembling under the influence of that raging desire.

"So…" he murmured, watching me intently. "We doing this?"

Any cognitive awareness of why it might be a bad idea had officially fled. Hell… we were alone in the middle of nowhere. Newlon's curse was inevitable, inescapable, but relatively harmless, in the grand scheme of things. And we were trapped together, with hours until dawn. Why fight the inevitable, if we could just enjoy it instead?

That was the curse talking, obviously. But it made a convincing argument.

"Looks that way," I said softly.

His fingers tightened a little on the back of my neck. "Yeah."

"Ground rules?"

"No judgement," he said. "This is on both of us. And… discretion. This may be happening, but it never happened."

"Damn right," I muttered. Stars and stones, if my brother ever learned about this, I'd never hear the end of it. Same with Murphy, and the rest of SI. And the werewolves. And _Bob_ … God, he'd just be impossible to work with. "Anything else?"

Ramirez considered silently for a long moment. Finally, he shook his head. "I guess those are the important ones," he said. Then he rolled his eyes. "I can't believe I'm going to lose my virginity to _you,_ of all people."

"Gee, that 'no judgement' thing sure was short-lived," I said, mock offense in my voice. "You could do a lot worse than me."

"Yeah?" His lips curved in a smile that was half amusement, half challenge. "Prove it."

Heh. I leaned forward, just a little, noting how his breath hitched when I did. "Buckle up, buttercup," I advised in a low voice, and kissed him again.

This time, the contact was even more electrifying than the last—like, exponentially so. Maybe our acceptance of the curse had allowed it to grow even stronger? Or was it accelerating on its own? I had no idea, too preoccupied by the surge of pleasure that was ignited by the touch. I seized Ramirez' waist and pulled him harder against me. He groaned softly, and I couldn't help but echo it as he pressed his whole body along mine, all lean muscle and dangerous strength trapping me against the wall of the cabin.

" _Madre de Dios,"_ he breathed against my mouth. His hands slid down my chest and started to fumble with the buttons of my shirt, but he didn't try very hard before he gave up and just tore it open, sending the buttons flying.

I shoved him a little. "C'mon, man," I protested, laughing. "I still gotta wear this shirt tomorrow."

His response was… disproportionate. He shoved back, hard, with all his body weight behind it, hands still fisted in my shirt. If I hadn't already been leaning on the wall, I would have cracked my head on it. Instead, I just sort of bumped backward, shoulders scraping against the wall as Ramirez' lower body pinned me in place. There was a fierce, hungry light in the depths of his dark eyes. "Shut up, Harry," he growled. He kissed me again, roughly this time, and…

Okay.

Go ahead and add _sudden sexual violence_ to the list of Things Harry Never Expected Would Be Turn-Ons.

I growled back at him, wordlessly, as his display of aggression triggered an answering hunger in me, some kind of alpha-male instinct that recognized a fight for dominance when I saw one. I used a little trick I'd learned from Murphy and seized Ramirez' left wrist and elbow, levering his arm into a sudden, awkward position. It startled him into releasing my shirt, and I followed through with the movement, a lot smoother than I'd expected to. I twisted around behind him and slammed him against the wall with his hand wrenched up between his shoulder blades.

He made a sound that was probably approval. "Nice one," he said, much more nonchalantly than anyone with their face shoved against a wall should be. "You've been training for this, huh?"

I smiled tightly, looming over him a little. I could feel the tension in his body as I held him there, the faint shiver that coursed through him. "Shut up, Carlos," I whispered at his ear.

Ramirez huffed out a laugh that turned into a soft groan as I rocked against him. A heated, hungry _need_ was building in me, something primitive and animalistic that was very close to taking over. I let go of his arm so I could pull him back against me, finding a slow rhythm; he went along with it for a delicious moment, his head tipped back against my shoulder.

Then he moved with blurring speed, twisting around and hooking one ankle behind mine. The room spun, and my back crashed into the wall again, only this time I was looking up at him, since he'd literally swept me off my feet. The wall had caught me halfway down, so for an instant I kind of hovered awkwardly a few feet off the ground, with my neck and shoulders against the wall, supported only by one leg at a weird angle and Ramirez' grip on my increasingly ruined button-down.

Ramirez grinned down at me, a little smugly. Then he swung one leg over my hips, bent down to kiss me again, and rode me down the rest of the way to the floor. I landed with a grunt, Ramirez straddling me, and at this point, Newlon's curse had pretty much subsumed all else. A herd of freaking Red Court vamps could have smashed into the cabin, and I don't think we could have stopped ourselves.

Good thing we'd trapped ourselves in that crystal shield, huh?

Ramirez helped me shrug out of the remnants of my shirt, then shucked his own shirt over his head. There was a moment of confused fumbling with belt buckles and boxers; then his strong, slender fingers wrapped around my erection at nearly the same time I found his. I bucked my hips involuntarily at the sheer ecstasy of that touch. Ramirez sucked in a breath and hissed something in Spanish that sounded like a curse.

We might have gone further, if we'd been more… ah… prepared. On the other hand, maybe not. The curse was fully in control now, and it drove us down the path of least resistance to get what it wanted. Ramirez pressed his length against mine, a sensation that was utterly foreign and goddamn fantastic. "Jesus," I gasped, and he let out an answering moan, doing something with his fingers that made stars swim across my vision. And then it was mostly a blur: an urgent rhythm of hands and flesh and ragged breaths, Carlos' dark eyes locked on mine, my name spilling from his lips in a desperate groan and then _oh holy fuck—_

A few minutes—or maybe an hour—later, he stirred against me and mumbled something unintelligible.

"Mmffghh," I agreed. I opened my eyes to see him gazing down at me

"Damn," he said softly, a hint of a smile hovering around his mouth. "Is it always like that?"

I blinked up at him a few times, still trying to reassemble my brain. "Um. Which part—the death curse sex, or the sex with a man? Because this is the first time I've done either."

He rolled his eyes and handed me my ruined shirt without replying. It was already beyond saving, so I took it with a sigh and used it to clean up.

"Well," I murmured, taking stock of how I felt. The insistent desire of Newlon's curse had been satisfied, for now, but not banished. I could still feel it between us, like a cord that bound us together, drawing us inevitably closer. All we had done was introduce a little slack to the line, and it was already shortening again. "You may be about to find out, 'Los."

He rested one hand on my chest, his calloused thumb caressing my skin absentmindedly. Then he said in a quiet voice, "You okay?"

It cost him something to ask me that, and I understood why. It would be easiest for us each to assume that the other was on board, to assume that we could indulge this damn curse without guilt. The forced desire had sneaked up on both of us the first time, and our mutual consent had been rushed, definitely influenced by the curse. Right now, though, we had a little breathing room, some time to think. And if we _knew_ that either of us were unwilling before we kept going…

Well. We might not be able to stop anything that was about to happen, but it would be a lot harder to live with, later.

Carlos wasn't the kind of guy who could ignore that possibility, and neither was I. So I took a long moment to consider, thoroughly, because he deserved an honest answer.

"Yeah," I said finally, letting out a long breath. "Surprised and confused as hell about it, but yeah. I'm okay."

He gave me a smile that made me feel like my heart tripped over itself. "Same here."

A little knot of tension that I hadn't really noticed before suddenly unraveled. I grinned back at him, feeling the curse's influence already returning. His hand slid down my chest, then lower, and desire spiked through me again, just as intensely as before. I pulled him down into a kiss, and then we set out to learn if it really was always as mind-blowing as the first time.

As a matter of fact, it was.

* * *

I woke up to the heavenly scent of coffee and a glaring light in my face. Squinting, I shielded my eyes with my hand, and realized I was laying on my side, with sunlight spilling through the cabin's open doorway and all over me. With a groan, still unsure if I was fully awake, I managed to push myself up to a seated position and look around.

I was alone in the cabin, but Ramirez' stuff still sat in the corner, and a little camping-style coffeepot was percolating cheerfully away over the fire. The shimmering curtain of the crystal shield was gone. I ran a hand over my face, scraping at stubble. I was mostly dressed, sans shirt, though everything was in disarray. I desperately needed a shower and a shave. By the look of the light, it was maybe seven-thirty—not long past sunrise, but long enough.

Cautiously, I reached out my senses, searching for any hint of Newlon's curse. I found nothing. The curse had dissipated, washed away by the cleansing energy of sunrise, leaving behind only memories.

I had expected to feel embarrassed, or awkward, or angry at the way I'd been manipulated by the curse, once my head had cleared. I should have been dealing with a lot of mental fallout from what we'd done. Instead, I just felt…. satisfied.

I hadn't expected that.

I also felt a little turned on, the more I examined those memories.

I hadn't expected that, either.

I would have to use my Sight on Ramirez again, and have him examine me, to ensure no psychic scars remained from Newlon's black magic, but my gut said none did. It was possible that, by surrendering to the curse rather than fighting, Ramirez and I had prevented any psychic injuries. Or…

Maybe the curse hadn't forced us as far outside of our personal boundaries as I'd originally thought.

"Hell's bells," I murmured, shaking my head to clear my thoughts. It was far too early in the morning to try following _that_ line of reasoning. I shoved away the memories and the theories until I could think about them later.

I spent a moment trying to loosen stiff muscles and restore some order to what was left of my clothing, then succumbed to the siren call of morning coffee. A few enameled-metal cups sat near the fire; I filled both and took them outside, squinting in the harsh desert sunshine. I found Carlos seated on a big rock about thirty feet from the door, leaning back on his palms and soaking up the sun.

"Morning," he said as I approached.

I grunted and held out one of the coffee mugs. He stared at it for a moment, hesitant, before reaching for it. Once again, our fingers brushed during the handoff. This time, there was no unnatural spark, no metaphysical shock… but his touch lingered on my fingertips for a few moments longer than necessary, and I felt a little pang of loss as he took the cup from my hand.

"Thanks," he murmured.

I raised my own cup in salute, and we sipped our coffee in silence, watching the sun transform the desert landscape as it rose higher. Surprisingly, the silence was not awkward. Everything had already been said—and done—last night, I guess.

Eventually, we headed back inside to pack up. Ramirez tossed me a spare T-shirt from his bag; it was too short on me, but it was better than nothing, and it looked less goofy once I'd shrugged on my duster over it. He put out the little campfire with a murmured spell while I gathered up the rest of my gear and buckled my pack into place.

"Hey, Harry…" Ramirez said, looking up from the remains of the fire. "Look, I know this, uh, didn't happen. But before we leave here and never speak of it again, I just want to say that…. if it ever _didn't happen_ again sometime… I'd be up for that. You know, if you want. If it comes up. Just putting it out there." He was blushing a little, but he met my eyes directly.

Under his gaze, I felt a flutter of nervous excitement deep in the pit of my stomach. We'd shared something incredibly intimate and unexpected. I didn't know what to call it, but damned if I hadn't enjoyed the hell out of it. Whatever it was, it seemed vastly unfair that we couldn't have it again.

It wouldn't quite be the same without Newlon's curse to drive us anymore. But…maybe we didn't need the curse. Maybe it was worth a try.

"Yeah," I said simply. "I'd be open to that."

Carlos smiled broadly, his dark eyes sparkling. He held out a fist, and I bumped his knuckles with mine. "Let's get outta here," I said.

He swept one arm toward the door in an _after you_ gesture. "Age before beauty," he said, smirking.

I gave him a level look, and silently flipped him the bird as I walked past him and left the cabin.

"Don't threaten me with a good time," he snickered, following me.

"Oh, no," I shot back over my shoulder. "That was a promise." I winked at him, and he stumbled, muttering something under his breath in Spanish.

Smiling to myself, I headed for home with Ramirez at my side.


End file.
